POETICAL EFFORTS 



SAMUEL A. WOOD. 



WASHINGTON, D. C. 

1878. 






GMft. 

W. L. Sboenikkor 
r 8 '06 



PREFACE. 

The verses this unpretentious volume contains were 
written within the last three years, and the greater 
number have never before appeared in print. 

They are published in the cause of Truth, Beauty, 
and Humor ; partly for the edification ( or demoraliza- 
tion) of the writer's generous friends; and mostly to 
gratify his vanity. 

The discriminative reader may notice that some 
of the poems (may the Muses pardon the presump- 
tion!) are more suggestive than descriptive. Sug- 
gestiveness rather than directness is the object of the 
Poem. There is delicacy in the hint, but harshness in the 
explanation. Poetical thoughts inappropriately con- 
veyed are like a pretty woman in breeches ; the garb 
seems to destroy the beauty of the wearer. 

The poetry of humor has been sadly underesti- 
mated by the over-refined and sentimental. Humor- 
ous verse, or that intended to be such, they regard 
as an infringement on the sacredness of poetry, which 
to them is fit only for the delineation of passion or 
exalted feeling Passion and sentiment are very 
desirable, but there is more poetry in a hearty laugh 
than in a hundred melancholy musings. We can be 
gloomy any time without an efi*ort, but we cannot 
always laugh. Laughter is a luxury. It is the but- 
ter to the bread of existence. They live longest who 
laugh most, provided they laugh sincerely. Not 
that I believe humanity should be eternally grinning. 



You will readily see by the encomiums I lavish 
upon humor that I have attempted the composition of 
humorous verse. Methinks I see you, my seventy- 
five readers, distractedly running your agitated fin- 
gers through your hair, endeavoring to find a point. 
Methinks I see a smile wreathe your countenances 
after the discovery ! Methinks I hear your muttered 
maledictions upon the wretch who dares to call his 
punning, poetry ! 

I beg pardon of the Moon, the much-abused Moon, 
for so frequently introducing her. She no doubt 
feels aggrieved at being placed in such company. 

Lastly, my seventy-five readers, I hope you may 
■ftud something pleasant in this little collection ; and 
should you, I will think myself indeed famous. 



FACES. 



A phrenologist's medley. 



When labor's done, 

And the declining Sun 
Casts o'er the city his reflectful hue, 

Oft have I strolled, 

Poetic-souled, 

Upon the Avenue, 

To view 

The uncounted faces. 

Going to and coming from, 

Amid the thoroughfare's hum, 

Unconjecturable places. 

Faces, faces ! 

Some sans the traces 

Of a beauty-line ; 

Some superfine — 

Expressive 

And impressive 

As Beauty's queen is ; 

She 1 mean is 

Lovely Venus. 

Faces, faces ! 
On some I see deep-graven lines ; 

The sad, sad signs 
That dissipation's lances 

Are cutting apart 
The nobler feelings of the heart — 
Robbing these countenances 
Of all that pureness that enhances 



Our trust 
In that animated dust 
Entitled Man— all that's fine 

And feminine. 

Faces, faces ! 
Some glide rapidly along, 
And dart and dodge among 
The AYondrous throng — 
These, perhaps, are in a flurry 
Upon some business hurry ; 
Or maybe a relative is lying 
In disee^se's clutches, dying: 
A father, sister, mother, 
Or a brother. 
Perhaps *' another 
Dearer than all other," 
A sweetheart, or maybe 
The precious baby. 

Faces, faces ! 

Soul-lit faces ; 
Some full of rose-hued health and sprightly spirit ; 
Some meek -orbed faces that inherit 
ConsuDiption's pallid sadness ; 
Some filled with all the gladness 
Of a happy lover, thinking 
Of fonts of love that rise 
Before his dreamy eyes. 
Whose nepenthe he dreams of drinking. 

Faces, faces ! 
Boyish faces, leering ; 
Villain faces, peering, 
And disappearing ; 



Faces full of horrid grimaces ; 
Haggard female faces, that express 
A life of wretchedness. 
Well we know where they go: 
Marching in the ranks of Woe, 
With Sin's unprotecting shield, 
They war with mighty Death, 
And yield, reluctantly, on Potter's Field. 

Faces, faces ! 
Fact-featured, unsympathetic; 
Faces magnetic, faces poetic ; 
Faces lit with the love of humanity ; 
Faces teeming with vanity. 

Faces, faces ! 
How the variety amazes ! — 
None, none like another, 
No, not a twin brother ; 

Each lineament 

Is different. 
Youthful and confident faces 
With the faintest traces 

Of moustaches ; 
Old, wrinkled, gray-bearded faces ; 
Bold and courageous faces ; 
Sneaking and cowardly faces; 
Snowy, and marble-like faces ; 
Black, Ethiopian faces ; 
Fine-featured, sensitive faces ; 
Coarse, sensual, animal faces ; 
Strong, Sun-burned, laborers' faces ; 
Grave, philosophical faces ; 
Thoughtless, expressionless faces ; 



Beautiful faces that seem 

To have fallen down here 

From some happier sphere, 

Where all things are fair as we dream. 

Faces, faces ! 
We glance at each other, and go 
On our way, and no more do we know 
Of each other. Life is just so. 

Faces, faces! 
Beloved, "old familiar faces," 
Faces dearest here. 
May you not disappear 
For many and many a year ! 



PATIENCE. 

Toil, toil, toil ! 
Impatient soul, the wished-for goal 
Is only won by labor done. 

Pigmy minutes build the hours, 
Stone by stone, a temple towers. 
Strive on, and know, however slow. 
The mind will grow. 

Toil, toil, toil ! 
weary mind, strive on, resigned 
To any fate that may await 

Behind the future's misty curtain ; 
Strive on, a recompense is certain: 
All labor done beneath the Sun 
Rewards some one. 



THE BABY. 

0, wee-faced little one, 

Existence just begun, 

Reveal the mystery 

Of Baby Land to me ? 

Before the human form, 

So wondrous, fair, and warm, 

Was thine, with what pure race 

Hadst thou thy dwelling-place ?— 

Upon some tiny star 

That sparkles from afar 

Just like thy eyes, my sweet. 

With mystery replete ? 

Or in the pearl-lined dells 

Beneath the ocean's swells ? 

Or from some mystic shore, 

Like those in fairy lore, 

Didst thou emerge, so fresh, 

Enwrapped in human flesh? 

Why canst thou not explain 

The workings of thy brain ? 

Or is a baby's thought 

AVith such deep knowledge fraught 

That feeble human speech 

Cannot its meaning reach ? 

Unworded are thy lips, 
But could the Gods eclipse 
The eloquence and life 
That in thy shape is rife ? — - 
The chubby feet and arms. 
The thousand infant charms, 



10 



Love, and sweet innocence, 
Are noblest eloquence. 

I gaze upon thy eyes, 
Where specchful silence lies, 
I gaze, and meditate 
Upon thy future fate : 
Will all thy graces die 
When babyhood flits by ? 
I trust not ; mayst thou be 
Of snowy purity. 
If some true youth should try 
To win thy favoring eye, 
Wilt thou, in coquette art. 
Play havoc with his heart ? 
I trust n-ot ; mayst thou prove 
More gentle in thy love. 

I might soliloquize 

Forever, but thy eyes 

Are drooping. God of sleep, 

A hawk-eyed vigil keep 

Upon the baby's heart ; 

Let not its life depart 

Ere morning's gray-tinged ray 

Reveals another day ; 

Let not Its soul be hurled 

Far from the moving Avorld 

Down Death's repulsive vale. 

For then of what avail 

Had been its visit here 

Upon this grief-crowned sphere,? 



11 



Asleep? Already, too, 
Before my musing's through? 
Sleep on, and through a dream 
May some clear language gleam, 
That, when thou wakest, we 
May hear the mystery 
Explained ; may understand 
The truth of Baby Land. 



MY SWEETHEART. 

She is fair, very fair ; 

Not in wreaths of golden hair, 

Not in smooth peach-blossom cheeks, 

Nor has she rose-dyed lips 

Through which soft expression slips ; 

But she speaks 
With an universal voice. 
For the woman of my choice 
Is Queen Nature, pure and SAveet, 
And deliciously complete 

Her affection's deeper, far, 
Than the loves of women are, 
And no fickleness is hers. 
She is lavish with her love, 
And she pours it from above 

In my ears 
Through the whirling, tuneful wind. 
In a language of a kind 
That no human voice can mould, 
For by Heaven it seems unrolled. 



12 



She invites the sunlight down, 
And she sets the rainbow-crown 
O'er this great, revolving sphere ; 
As a gloomy cloud she rends. 
Laughing liquidly, she sends 

Raindrops here. 
0, no love is there above 
Such an undenying love. 
I am hers and she is mine ; 
'Tis a passion most divine. 

Sweetest sweetheart, golden maid. 
Whose pure passion cannot fade, 
When no more my pulses flow 
With life's fevered, changing tide, 
Take me ! Let my soul abide, 

When I go, 
In sweet-scented flowers and trees, 
Li the stars, the clouds, the seas ; 
Take me, mingle me with thee. 
Then will all thy loves love me. 

THE BURGLAR. 

A burglar entered my room, I said, 

" Why com' St thou thus to me ?" 
And he with shadowed brow replied, 

"To rob thy sleep of thee." 
^' get thee gone, thou com'st too oft, 

Thy name is Thought, I know, 
A blackguard of the deepest dye. 

Go, cursed intruder, go !" 



13 



A FUNERAL, 

She is dead ! 
Her spirit has fled ; 
Soon she will be hid 
'Neath the coffin-lid ; 
Pale, pale is her cheek, 
Her white lips will speak 

Nevermore. 

All is o'er ! 

The grave-digger waits at the burjing-ground ; 

Mourners, gather around. 

Kiss her lips, her immovable lips, 

That erst did the red rose eclipse ; 

Kiss her eyes, her fixed, lusterless eyes. 

And ask is there soul in that guise ! 
Can you any soul trace 
In that passionless face ? 
No ; this infantile earth. 
Where her being had birth. 
Is her first and her last dwelling-place. 

Her lover — she loved him so dear — 
Leans solemnly over her bier. 
By my soul ! in his eye is a tear ! 
He looks very sad, does he not? 
But, ah, she will soon be forgot : 
Ere a month has gone by he will seek 
Another, and tenderly speak 
Loving words in her ear. 
And call her most dear ; 
Alas, human nature is weak ! 



14 



Screw on the lid, undertaker. 
You never can wake her 

No matter 
How loudly you clatter ; 
Her sleep is too deep. 
Pall-bearers, bear her away ; 
Stop not to pray. 
For death's here every day 
In his gloomy array ! 
Do not weep ; 
Lower her deep 
For the earth to keep. 
Come, come, don't delay, 
Grim grave-digger, shovel away ; 
She'll be a grand feast for the worms some day ! 
Come, mourners, the strife 
Of ambitious life 

Waits ye here, 

Dry the tear. 
Soon, soon, very soon, 
In Life's dim afternoon, 

She'll be rotten," 

And forgotten ! 

HOME. 

I went from my beloved home 

In quest of love and fame, 
And, after many wanderings, 

Back to my home I came. 

There found I love in measure vast, 
'Twas in my mother's heart ; 

There found I fame in friends' applause. 
Home, how complete thou art ! 



15 



THE PHOTOGRAPH. 

My steadfast friend had been away, 
But has returned, I trust to stay. 

Together we, the other day. 
Gazed o'er my treasury of faces, 
The album ; he desired to see 
Its acquisitions since he went from me. 
And as we looked, his interro^ratories 
I'd meet with many new and w^ondrous stories 
That trustful memory afforded ; 
With mingled feelings I recorded 
How some remembered faces 
Had gone to foreign places ; 
How some had found 
Eternal rest beneath the mound ; 
How some had grown vicious and perverted; 
Some erring ones to Virtue's ways converted; 
How some to beautify their lives 

Had taken^ wives. 
An hundred incidents did I reveal 
Suggested by these shadows of the real. 

I turned one page upon another 

And came to the image of my mother. 

But did not stop ; his worthy friend* hip guessed 

That photograph indelibly impressed 

Upon my soul, forever there to rest. 

Another and another page we turned. 

Till his appreciative eyes discerned 

A girlish face; his curious look 

Was now on me, and then upon the book : 



It) 



He asked. '* Whose photograph V and I 

Hesitated and did not replj ; 

Again he said, '' Whose photograph ? ''' 

And I Avas silent as before ; 

He never asked the question mare. 

But burst into a merry laugh. 



"ITS AN ILL WIND." 

1 made me merry in the Sun's bright ray. 
Nor thought his spirit- lifting light, 

Although it brought to me the gladsome day. 
Yet 'twas another mortal's night. 

I trembled as the sable night swept past. 

In its Plutonian array, 
And though its shadow over me was cast^ 

Yet 'twas another mortal's day. 



WHY. 

Fool Man, awed by immensity, 

L^pon the star- besprinkled sky 

Looks wond'ringly, and falters, '' Why?" 

In vain he listens for reply. 

The hollow echo, "Why, why, why?" 

Will flow through an eternity 

From lips of awe-filled fools to come, 

And Nature ever will be dumb 

To such a senseless inquiry. 

O fool, let the enigma be : 

'Tis an impenetrable mystery. 



BREVITIES. 



WORLDS. 

I dreamed that I wandered up there 
Through the vast, silent, desert of air. 
To that wee-looking star in the distance, ^^ 
Beaming and teeming 
With conscious existence. 
A great, wide world, it dawned upon my sight - 
And there upon a cloud-crowned height 
I stood, and gazed, amazed, into the starry night, 
Out, out, in enigmatic space ! - 
A million worlds had dwelling-place 
Beyond that small appearing star ! 
Worlds ! Worlds ! 
I wonder where the boundaries are ! 
How unguessible. 
And inexpressible ! 

THE DESCENT OF MAN . 

I traced the progress of a muddy stream, 

And as it sped on its career 

I noted it grew clear. 

And like a pearly liquid soon did gleam. 

Back in unrecorded time, 

Through Necessity's rude, bitter clime, 

Imperceptibly slow. 

Brutal and dark, the stream of life began to flow. 



18 



FAME. 

The Stonecutter chiseled away : 
" Stonecutter, tell me, I praj, 
What the chisel you guide and your mind, 
In their artistic skill have designed ? " 
*' 'Tis for you my fine fellow," he said, 
' 'Twill cover your grave when you /-e dead 
And his chisel continues to go, 
But never a line will he show 
Till I am reposing below. 



CONSCIOUSNESS. 

Aspiring Earth no consciousness possessed 
Till Man was born and suckled on her breast, 
Then through his mind her being she expressed :< 
" I am a world, and through the endless sky 
Unnumbered others meet my puzzled eye — 
I'm but a star, I move, and know not why ! " 

INSPIRATION. 

A sweet-faced girl floats by a poet's eyes, 
And quickly to the brain her image flies, 
On viewless thought it rushes to the tongue - 
Sure poet ne'er before so sweetly sung. 



CONUNDRUM. 

Ere we were what we are. 
What were we, and where did we dwell ? 

When we're not what we are 
What then will we be ? Who can tell ? 



19 



ART'S INFANCY. 

I searched a dark and ancient mound, 

And found 

Amid a mass of human bones, 

Carved pottery and shapen stones. 

Here was the infancy of Art, 

Amongst these stones and figured clay 

Did many marbled Venus start, 

And grow sublimer day by day. 

THE REASON. 

'* When desolating War 
Bedew^s with blood the plain. 

Why, when the battle's o'er, 
Why, mother, does it rain ? " 

*• The angels weep, my son. 
In witnessing the pain, 

And when the battle's done 
That makes the tearful rain." 



INSIGNIFICENCE. 

What am I, 

Who gaze upon the sky 

In wonderment, and sigh. 

And dream my dreams and die ? 

vanity ! 

What am I to all Humanity ? 

What is this small 

Rotating ball 

To All ? 



20 



UNEXPRESSED. 

Said the monarch, Mind, 
"Be thou, thought, defined." 
And the bidden thought 
Was in language wrought 
By the potent pen. 

Said the monarch. Mind, 
** Be thou. Soul, defined." 
But the bidden Soul 
Never did unroll 
Its unwritten ken. 

A SIMILIE. 

I stood within a mirror-sided hall 

And glanced from wall to wall. 

In vain the intellect 

Strove to detect 

Where the bewikFring mirrors ceased to reflect, 

Space and Eternity are more vexing 

And perplexing. 

THE COMMUNIST. 

*' Divide the money and the land," 
He cries, in noble spirit, 

But should he get a lucky hand 

From Fate, no more you'll hear it. 

He will close his cold heart's door, 
And take the key and lock it. 

how does man's opinion change 
When change is in his pocket! 



21 



HOME. 

*' Where hast thou been, Eugene Gray ? " 
*' Over the waters and far away, 
In lands half-known, in every zone, 
Have I been." 

*' What hast thou seen, Eugene Gray? " 
"What all may see in the world's wild way 
Misery, care, and women fair, 
Have I seen ! " 

*' What hast thou learned, Eugene Gray?" 
" There's naught like hjme, the poets say. 
To love that home, and ne'ermore roam. 
Have I learned 



IMMORTALITY. 

Long, lono^ ago, a genius wrought 

A beautiful and noble thought 
In such a sweet, expressive way. 
That it is with the world to-day. 
So Truth and Beauty e'er shall stay. 



DEMAND AND SUPPLY 

"Ye of the outer world make room," 
Existence cried within the womb ; 
Death heard the voice, and made a tomb. 
And there was room. 
:o: 



99 



A LOVER'S FANCIES. 

THE STATUE. 

In the long, lorg ago, lived a lover. 
Who loved fondly, devotedly, grand, 

A delicate. Veautiful lady, 
The fairest sweetheart in the land. 
And he sued for her heart and her hand 

But he had a pale, gloomy-eyed rival, 
Whom language of man christened Death, 

Who also was wooing the lady. 
And wooing away her life-breath, 
While weaving her funeral wreath — 

And once in the shadowy night-time 
He softly stole into her room, 

And kissed her lips nallid as lilies, 
And carried her off to the tomb, 
To endless, perpetual gloom. 

Her true lover, stunned, and unhappy. 
In wild, inconsolable mood. 
Sought the grave of his death-wedded darling, 
Deep in the dim burial wood; 
There mournful and moveless he stood, 

And wept, wildly, mournfully, strangely. 
His brow clasped between his wan hands ; 

He wept his sad soul from his body, 
Unloosed mystic Life from its bands — 
And there, Lost Love's Statue, he stands. 



DREAMING. 

The brazen Day has taken flight ; 

The yellow-tinted Moon's calm light 
Comes through my window streaming, 
And I am sweetly dreaming, 
lovely lass, of thee. 

On countless maidens in the town. 
On thee the selfsame Moon looks down 
butter- visa o;ed Moon above. 
How sleeps my fair, unrivaled love. 
Say, does she dream o^ mc\ 



THE KISS- 

I saw a merry, laughing girl, 
Upon the grassy parking ; 

How she resembled one I knew 
I could not help remarking. 

I called the little one to me, 

I fondly, purely, kissed her, 
And whispered in her tiny ear, 
'' Child, that's for your big sister! 



^'OH, GEORGE!" 

We swing, and double s^yinging is divine. 
In good, old-fishioned rope, oak-shaled swings — 
High, higher, like a bird it madly wings. 

And wildly, joyously, we laugh and shout, 
While round her waist my love-urged arm I twine. 

To keep the precious girl from tumbling out ! 



24 



VACANT, 

A brilliant, silv'ry globe I saw 
Pendent from a Christmas tree ; 

Pretty lady, do you know 
It reminded me of thee : 

Features regularly fine. 
From the forehead to the chin. 

Your fair head would be divine — 
Were there anything within! 

THE SWEEPER. 

Little maiden, wielding broom, 

With domestic art. 
Thou hast swept the dust aAvay 

From my heavy heart. 

Little maiden, be my bride, 
And with magic broom. 

Thou shalt ever from my heart 
Sweep away the gloom. 

THE BRIDE'S DUE. 

In the dimly-outlined land 
Of the Future there's a maiden 

Waiting me, her destined beau, 
With a heart affection-laden. 

For this girl I fondly keep, 
Fondly keep and fondly nurture, 

My firm soul in purity. 
And my body in rare virtue. 



vd 



NOW. 

Love me, my divine one, now; 

For your future constancy 
I Avill not demand a vow; 

Present love's enouo;h for me. 



o 



Love another, if inclined, 
When dull death envelops me. 

For what pleasure would you find 
Wedded to my memory? 

Memory's a joy, 'tis true, 

But is not ever fresh. 
And Avill memory be to you 

As' a lover in the flesh ? 

we do the living w^rong 
Wasting sweetness on tiie dead, 

O'er a memory grieving long ; 
Living should the living wed. 

What will redness of your lips, 
All the beauty I discern. 

Be to me when being slips 
From me, never to return ? 

Can the pulsing heart and brain 

Find affinity Avith clay ? 
Peerless sweetheart, wed again, 

I will never say you nay. 

Love as many as you choose, 
Let them kiss your lips and brow, 

When I'm not, but don't refuse. 
Lovely one, to love me now. 



26 



A MEMORY. 

I see her now, that childish love of mine, 
The whitest idol of my selfish heart, 
A girl the poets well might call divine, 
So beautiful, and so devoid of art. 



I always chose her from the merry ring. 
That in the summer evenings sang and played ; 

She was my queen, and I her heart s proud king, 
In all the splendor o^' her love arrayed. 



As jealous as the dusky Moor I'd grow 
If any other boy dared glance 'at her; 

What right had he ? I was her chosen beau ! 
Ah ! rash my juvenile affections were ! 

No dictionary terms were ours, we spoke 
As simple sentences as lips could frame. 

But all our words were as volcanic smoke 
That half reveals the nature of the flame. 



And artless missives oft did w^e exchange. 
Although she lived but half a square above, 

Our spelling and our penmanship were strange, 
But served to half-interpret our love. 

She was the dream of my expectant life, 
And I remember well, just ten was she. 

When hand in hand she pledged herself my wife. 
Some sweet day in the vague futurity. 



'11 



Alas! we parted in our early joy, 

Years have rolled by since that enchanted time, 
Ami she has long forgot the light-haired boy 

Whom she first taught to venture into rhyme. 

A woman bears, somewhere, perhaps, on earth, 
The name my matchless, early darling bore, 
The name alone, her undescriptive worth 
Lies "neath the withered leaves of Nevermore. 

ECHO'S ADVICE. 

Wind, Waves, Elements, 

cruel Stars above me, 
My love's untrue, what shall I do, 

Since nevermore she'll love me. 

Since nevermore she'll love me? 

My spirit's weary with its woe, 

111 does existence suit it, 
shall I get a leaden ball 

And through my bosom shoot it? 

And Echo answered, '' Shoot it !" 



FEET. 

As down the street I went 

On some cherished theme intent, 

Eyes downward bent, 

I saw a pair of feet, 

Well-proportioned and complete. 

And I wondered who was waiting for their beat. 

I ween he thinks their music very sweet. 



28 



IMAGINATIVE. 

The moon through starry reocions rolled, 
Unclouded was the summer sky, 

"When through the shaded park we strolled, 
My peerless darling, you and I. 

The moonshine falling through the trees 
Formed silv'ry fretwork on the ground. 

Soft blew the odor-laden breeze. 
And calm night-noises echoed round. 

Your arm lay lightly in my own, 
And shyly looked you in my eyes. 

And by the tremor of your tone 
I heard what you could not disguise. 

Electric-like, from mind to mind, 
The knowledge flew, and how you blushed, 

When mute with rapture undefined, 
Into each others' arms we rushed! 



THE LOVER'S RIGHT. 

'' May I kiss your hand ?" he asks. 
Pressing soft her snowy fingers, 

His fine face suffused w^ith love, 
As upon the step he lingers. 

*'No," slie murmurs, and his heart 
Calls her crudest of misses. 

** No," she says, but slyly adds, 

" Lips were made for lover's kisses !'' 



29 



SOMETHING SAD. 

She was looking from the window 
Through the misty, moistened pane, 

As I passed with my umbrella 
In the thicklv-flowins: rain. 

Ah ! her smile was most bewitching, 
Fair and rosy was her flesh. 

As I passed with my umbrella 
I was tangled in the mesh. 

Now she looks from my heart's window, 
Through the dull and heavy pain, 

And Forgetfulness' umbrella 
Is no shield from tears that rain ! 

ONE MOON. 

" I know that the stars are much brighter 
Than Luna, but do the stars shine 

On me with such wonderful lustre 
And soften this dark face of mine ?" 

So thinks the big Earth ; I imagine 

No woman so beauteous as she 
In the light of whose love is existence, 

Who is peerless — because she loves me. 



LIFE. 

Existence is forged 

On the Anvil of Marriage 

By Love, the great Blacksmith 

Love is life, and life is love. 



30 



THE HINT. 

We walked, and jesting, I inquired, 
"Is that great ring, my Evelyn, 

Around the yellow moon, for Gods 
To play a game of marbles in ?" 

*' no," she said, "do you not know 
The passionate and bright-browed Sun 

Has given her the ring to show 
That they will shortly be as one." 



BLOODY. 

" Write me a golden ballad, 

An unexam>pled strain. 
More beautiful than any 

E'er bred in poet's brain ?"' 

lovely, lovely lady, 

If you will give the ink 
From out that veiny, snowy arm, 

Well can I write, I think. 

THE PRIVATEER. 

The privateer is going to fight, 
Perhaps, who knows, to die; 

He warmly clasps all friendly hands 
And bids his girl good bye : 

•' If on the gory deck I fall," 

He murmurs in her ear, 
*' Mourn not, but seek another beau, 

And drop a private tear !" 



31 



RHYME OF THE SMOKER'S SWEETHEART 

The far off stars are very bright, 
And in the bosom of the night 

Like great diamonds they shine, 
But there's something more divine 
Than a star. 

The fire-flies that in each tree 
Their lamps suspend, are sweet to see ; 

Their flashes would be incomplete 
Did not a sweeter make them sweet 
As thev are. 



I linger at the door, my c^^es 
Are not on stars or fire-flies, 

A brighter light : here comes my love. 
And there is not a light above 
His cigar ! 



PHILOSOPHY, 

The sad, the despairing, folorn one, 
To whom the harsh No haS" been said, 

If he blows out his brains, why, such poor brains 
Are much better out of his head. 

If charmed with some beauteous deceiver, 

And jilted, I'd certainly rue 't, 
Perhaps for a day be a griever, 

But may I be shot if I'd shoot ! 



32 



FACT. 



How transierxt is our love, apple of my eye ! 
The hours die, 
A day goes by, 
Months multiply, 
Years swiftly fly. 
And Death draws nigh. 
And you must die, 
And so must I — 
Yea, verily ! 

THE ANSWER. 

I strolled down to the river. 
To the darkly-flowing river: 

*' River,*' said I, '^e'er in motion. 

Darkly flowing to the ocean. 

Is there balm beneath thy waters 

For a love-lorn youth's digestion?" 
Said the river, with a quiver, 
*' Love-lorn youth I icave the question ?'' ' 



PHONOGRAPHIC. 

Do not whisper that you love me 
In my quick, attentive ear, 

Breathe it in my phonograph, love, 
Then, when you are gone, I'll hear 

What your lips have gently whispered, 
Every moment in the year. 



33 



SLEIGHING. 

How delicious 'tis a-sleighing 
'Neath the halo of the moon, 

While the bells in pleasing jingle 
King an oft-repeated tune. 

See the vapor as it rises 

l''rom the nostrils of the horse ; 
Hear the steel-encompassed runners 

Cutting through the snowy course ! 

What beauty, what melody. 
Upon the earth's white face 

To swiftly glide o'er hill and plain 
In such delightful pace ! 

How delicious 'tis a-sleighing 
Wlien the air is pure and white. 

And nature breathes a symphony 
Of heavenly delight I 



Hear the music, hear the laughter, 
Floating on the misty air ! 
HoAV delicious 'tis a-sleighing 

When the sleigh contains a pair ! 

HER BEAUTY. 

My love is pretty, but you'd never know it, 
For only when she blushes does she show it ; 
She blushes but for one, her would-be poet — 
She's pretty, though the world can never know it. 

i.orc 



34 



A REVELLER S RHYME. 



Life is sad, life is dizzy, and busy, and sad ! 

Then be glad ! 

Let us laugh — lot us quaff 

The nepenthean liquid of joy. 

And be careless and light as a boy. 

Let thought flee; let us be mad and free ! 

Give no care to despair ; never wear 

Despondency's sorrowful air! 

Ha, ha ! Ho, ho ! 

Do ye so. 

Smile all the Avhile, as if 'twere a general style! 

Never sigh, " Death is nigh!" 

Well, 'tis so, but you know 

All the rest must be dressed 

For the bier ! Is it queer you should go ? 

Why, no, certainly not — all must rot ! 

Be of cheer ; let no tear dim your eye. 

Why should you sigh? 

It's a perfectly natural thing to die ! 

Wit and mirth, jovial pair, 

Rule the earth everywhere. 

Mirth and wit make life flit 

Sweetly by. 

Smile, smile, all the while! 

Pun, pun, pun ! 

And when we're done with onr fun 

Let a fresh resounding laugh 

Be raised for our epitaph ! 



35 



THE YEARS. 

Who can reveal what the years may bring ? 

Many a errand and desirable thing : 
New truths, newer creeds, 
Purer laws, brighter deeds, 
Better youth, stronger breeds, 
What America needs. 
This may the years bring. 

Who can divulge what the years may bring? 

Many n new and unguessible thing — 
New sweethearts and beaus. 
New friends and new foes, 
New joys and new woes. 
And — the Lord only knows 
What the years may bring ! 

A REGRET. 

weep, sad Soul, weep. 
O'er the grave of the former time, 
When you bounded with joy 
In the frame of a boy, 
And existence was smooth as a rh3ane ! 
weep, sad Soul, for never 
Again in the long Forever 
Can you that young dwelling resume, 
For Boyhood's dead and in his tomb ; 
He is dead and buried deep, 
Under the hopes and fears, 
Under the smiles and tears, 
Of many departed years ! 



36 



A WISH. 

Moan for the dying year, 
Chilly wind. 
For in the SAveet May -time of his prime 
He was dear, very dear. 

Spotless snow, gently fall 
'Round his form, 
Softly drop o'er his breast, for 'tis best 
The snow should be his pall. 

* 
He was with smiles replete, 
Painful tears. 
Mourning tears, too, he had, tears so sad ; 
But bitter has its sweet. 

We mourn the dying year, 
Mem'ried year, 
And wish the next may be more than he — 
May he not cause a tear. 

A QUERY. 

The lamplights glisten, 

Flickeringly glisten. 
Alternate dim and bright ; 
'Tis a wild and windy night, 

And I listen 
To the undulating Avires. 
Are the solemn notes one catches 
Murmurings from sad dispatches, 
Transferred by electric fires 
To the swinging, singing wires. 
The throbbing, sobbing, undulating wires ? 



87 



TO THE SCIENTISTS. 

giants of Science, 
Great professors of that necromancy 
That fills the fancy 
With images ^rand 
As visions seen in boy-delighting Fairy Land, 
To* thee 
The Volume of the Universe is free — 
() read me from its pages the tales of by-gone ages ; 
C nseal, reveal the long-concealed, poetic mystery 
Of Man's dark history, 
And tell me of the vanished past, 
Before the time 
Of dim tradition, prose, and mellow rhyme ; 
The long-departed past. 
So strange, beginningless, and vast ! 
Translate in full glory 
The thrilling story! 

A FANCY. 

I saw the autumn leaves — uncounted hosts — 
Sweep down the street, in yellow, withered guise. 
Ah me, I mused, how like the restless ghosts 
Of summer's dead and vanished butterflies. 



GOLD. 
poet, novelist, and British Lord, 
Well hast thou said, through crafty Richelieu, 
What now the compromising world construe, 
"The penny's mightier than the sword!" 



S8 



COMPARISON. 

With retrospective eye, I often gaze 
Upon the dimly outlined by-gone days, 
And Fancy portrays evVy faded joy 
Much sweeter than the present ; as a boy 
No pain, no fears, no business cares annoy. 

But Fancy flees before the fact-fjiced Truth 
I gaze once more adoAvn the vale of Youth, 
And see that childish eyes are steeped in tears, 
The some as when we're deeper in the years. 
Boys have their sorrows, cares; their loves and 
fears. 



A THEME. 

A theme, where shall 1 find theme, 

Prolific Nature, show it ; 
One breathing beauty, love, and truth 

bless your would-be poet ? 

And Nature led me here and there. 
Her many marvels telling. 

But in her great discernment stopped 
Before my sweetheart's dwelling. 

HEAVEN. 
'Tis for thee Ave slight the real, 
Like one who unwisely eats 
Quickly through the better meal 
For dessert's uncertain sweets. 



39 



CHANGE. 

I sit upon my throne 
And wave my magic wand 
O'er the land. 
The universe I own, 
And it heeds my least command. 
Man appears and disappears 
AVith the progress of the years. 
Though he may cease to be 
Mine is immortality. 
The substance and the soul, 
The cause and the effect, 
I control ; 
I am the architect of mighty Intellect, 
And its destroyer, too ; 
In borderless, unending space there's naught 
I cannot do I 
All is mine, far and near. 
Forms appear and disappear 
Beneath my magic wand; 
I am king of everything, 
And everything obeys my least command. 

MUSIC. 

Inspiring melody, in time of grief 

Thy mellow tones a gentleness impart 

To troubled hearts, and give them sweet relief. 

In joyous moments, ever-pleasing art, 

Thy notes divulge a softness in our mirth, 

Refining it. and making it complete. 

Thy thrilling strains to noble thoughts give birth; 

All-powerful thou art ; divinely sweet ! 



40 



THE LOVER. 

I searched a list of golden words. 

But I could not discover 
One beautiful enough to sing 

The praises of the Lover, 

He's king, and his divine domain 
The best of earth doth cover. 

hnppy privilege it is 
To be a royal Lover. 

LIFE. 

I arose -when the morning was gray, 
And worked through the Sun-illumed day. 
And after eat, drink, conversation, and laughter. 
On sleep's ocean I drifted away. 



A MLSS. 
*^ A miss is as good as a mile." 
'Tis false, sage, in every letter, 
And were you existing to-day 
I'd show you a miss that is better. 

TA TA! 

At last you have finished my verses, 
And probably they've finished you. 

If you've read composition that worse is, 
Martyred reader, it's more than I'd do! 



